


Stolen Moments in the Dark

by Helholden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bodice-Ripper, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor comes to Sansa’s room in the dark while she sleeps, but he intends to wake her and have her all for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Moments in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Littlefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/gifts).



> **Author’s Note:** Here’s your bodice-ripper fic, Littlefeather! I hope you enjoy it!  <3

_* * *_

 

The wind was cool from the windows, a breeze stirring the sheer curtains. A soft light from the moon illuminated the floor with a deep blue the color of evening skies after a sunset, though by the light of day they would have been brown. He stood by the foot of the bed, watching her as she slept, her chest rising and falling with each breath that she took beneath her chemise gown.

 

Slowly, he stepped around the bed with his heavily-soled boots. They made little noise on the floor with the way that he walked, and she slept on unaware. When he reached the side of her bed, he sat down. The mattress sank towards him, and she rolled her head to the side in her sleep, facing him, though her eyes remained closed and her breathing remained steady.

 

He reached out, and though he had meant at first he thought to gently touch her cheek, he instead grasped her chin firmly, startling her awake.

 

She gasped, but she didn’t scream, and her eyes were wide with fright.

 

Though he smiled, it was a twisted, snarling feature upon his scarred face. Even in the moonlight, he could not hide what he was, not even from her.

 

“Do you mean to draw the guards down on us?” he rasped, and he leaned closer to her, his face hovering above hers. “If not, be quiet, girl.”

 

Her wide eyes scanned his face in the lighting, and her expression shifted in the dark. Her fear was gone, replaced with something softer, something foreign, and something that had once been alien to him. He couldn’t remember the reason he had come here, but the reason hardly mattered anymore. Her tension loosened in his grip, and her hand reached out hesitantly in the dark, seeking his chest. It lay upon the rivets in his jerkin, touching him there with her fingers and her palm.

 

“My lord,” she said softly in that delicate voice of hers, “you . . . you should not be here.”

 

His hand had loosened on her chin as well, and he drew his thumb closer to her mouth, running it along her bottom lip. Her eyes were fixated on his face, but her breath had begun to grow shallow as her lips parted further. She had never used to look at him like this, so boldly without flinching away. Her pupils had grown wide, darkening her normally bright eyes.

 

His gaze traveled lower to gaze at her heaving bosom beneath the chemise.

 

A twitch came to the corner of his ruined mouth, but there was no frown to mark his features, only a twisted sort of smile as he gazed at her. His hand let go of her chin, and he dropped it slowly to the strings of her chemise. They were tied to keep it closed. Grasping strings between his fingers, he pulled them loose as her breathing quickened even more.

 

“My . . . my lord . . . ” she tried to say, and he raised his eyes to her face.

 

Sandor released the strings of her gown, gripping her chin with a rough gesture to make sure she was looking at him. She gasped again, but he heard no fear in the sound.

 

It was only desire, mirroring his, and her eyes were overflowing with it.

 

Gods, he _wanted_ her.

 

“Little bird,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, “you ought to learn when to keep quiet and stop chirruping.”

 

Sandor released her chin, and he undid the fastenings of his cloak. It fell from his shoulders and clumped to the floor in a heap. Sansa backed away from him on the bed, drawing herself closer to the headboard as she moved to sit upright, and Sandor looked up in time to see her.

 

He grasped her arm to prevent her from moving further and pushed her against the headboard to pin her there. As expected, it drew yet another sharp intake of breath from her, but he drowned her gasp with his ruined lips against her sweet, unblemished mouth as he slid his hand behind her neck to grasp her tightly to him. Her moans were low and soft, and her hands came up to curl in his hair. He enjoyed the taste of her in the dark silence of her room, stealing away with kisses that were not for him, never for him, but he would have them anyway.

 

His hands pulled down her chemise to expose her breasts to the cool air. Goose bumps arose on her skin, and he took one firm teat in his hand as he lowered his mouth to her other. He drew his tongue along her flesh in the dark, suckled her until she was clutching his head hopelessly and gasping for breath, and Sandor knew not how the position had changed for them or when, but Sansa was sitting in his lap now, straddling him wantonly, tipping her head back and arching into his touch and his mouth.

 

“My lord, please,” Sansa begged gently, combing her fingers through his hair. His boots were still on, so were his clothes. They would have to make this quick. He would have to leave before the guards came, before they got caught, but for now he had the opportunity to enjoy her, and he was going to take it.

 

Sandor hoisted her up by her waist, and with both hands, he pulled her gown up above her hips to get it out of the way. When he slid his hand between her thighs to touch her, the cloth of her smallclothes was wet against his fingers.

 

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Little bird,” he rasped, “didn’t take you much to get excited, did it?”

 

Sandor could see, even in the moonlight, her cheeks as they flushed with color. “I . . . I . . . ”

 

“Go on,” he urged, “say it.”

 

“I . . . I long for you, my lord,” Sansa admitted sheepishly, turning her face away from him.

 

“Look at me,” he told her firmly, without taking his eyes from her.

 

Sansa took a deep, shaky breath, but she returned her gaze to him. Sandor stared back at her, and the moment seemed to drag on—but gods, he didn’t have much time. He moved his fingers against her, the soaked cloth of her smallclothes still separating them skin from skin, in a slow, circular pattern as they gazed at each other’s eyes. He drew from Sansa’s lips reluctant sighs and soft noises, sounds of pleasure that soon became more fervent as his hand quickened against her.

 

When Sandor pulled his hand away, she moaned with despondence, but he was already looking down between their bodies to undo the fastening of his breeches. They came loose easily, and he pulled out his cock, which was already stiff with vigor and want. A few quick pulls, and he let go of himself to take Sansa by the hips and guide her over him, her knees sinking into the bed on either side of him.

 

Sandor slipped one hand behind her neck, drawing her closer to him.

 

“I need you, little bird,” he spoke into her ear, and he could feel the shivers pass through her skin as her hair tickled his cheek. Sandor used his free hand to grip himself by the base of his manhood as she hovered over him on her knees. “Do as your bid,” he ordered, “and sit down on my cock.”

 

Sansa’s hands were trembling as she reached under her gown to pull loose the strings of her smallclothes. She pulled them out of the way, letting them fall onto the bed. Then, almost hesitantly, she placed her hands on his shoulders, but her grip was firm and steady again. Her bosom was in his face, naked and beautiful, her chemise pulled low, as she lowered herself down to him.

 

Sandor felt her, soft and wet, against him, and then as she applied more weight, he felt his cock sink slowly into her warmth, encompassed by her heat. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, as she sank down the rest of the way until he was sheathed in her. It was her choice this way. There was no confusion. If she wanted him, she would take it, and he would never force her against her will. This desire was mutual, and her broken moan was proof of it, her tight grip in his hair was proof of it, and the way she slowly lifted herself along his hard manhood and slid back down again as she whimpered with longing was proof of it.

 

“Come now, little bird,” Sandor rasped, “have we got all night?”

 

Sansa made a noise in the back of her throat, which might have been to say no, as she shook her head in response. She gripped his shoulders again as she began to move up and down quickly in earnest, each bounce of her body drawing out a loud moan from her lips. Sandor pulled her down until her mouth touched his, sealing her lips with a rough kiss. She would wake the whole castle at this rate and bring the law down on _both_ of their heads. His slipped his tongue into her warm mouth, holding her down to him whether she willed it or no, and Sansa’s movements became harder and frantic. He could feel her hot wetness covering his cock, seeping down to his balls, as she rode him harder than she rode any of her horses, stallions and mares alike.

 

Sandor had not had her like _this_ in so long that his willpower to last was not as strong. He let go of her neck, grasping her hips hard with both hands, and thrust up into her roughly until she tipped her head back and called out to the ceiling in a voice louder than any prayer. Sandor didn’t try to silence her this time, but he drove into Sansa until he felt the familiar tightness of his muscles, his abdomen clenching with an oncoming release. It exploded behind his eyes as they fluttered to a close, a white light flashing behind his sight, and he spent himself inside of her, feeling a trickle down his cock as Sansa continued even then to ride him out to her release. It made him sore, but he gripped her tight, arm around her back, and held her as he thrust upward quick and hard until she trembled and then shook all over her body with her own climax.

 

Sansa fell against him in a heap, all of her weight sinking her down onto his lap, her head resting against his chest as she breathed heavily, attempting to regain her composure. She had one hand lying upon his shoulder beside her head, and the other was lying against his chest.

 

In the silence that followed their nightly actions, Sansa sat there in his lap within the embrace of his arms, and he held her close to him.

 

Sandor found one of his hands on the back of her head, stroking fingers gently through her hair, as his other arm was wrapped around Sansa’s body, holding her lovingly—like a man might hold to him a dear and loyal wife.

 

“I love you,” she whispered suddenly in the dark, breaking the silence between them. Her voice caught in her throat, full of emotion. “ . . . My husband.”

 

Sandor closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath, his hand stilling against the back of her head. He pulled back enough to place his lips against her hair close to her temple, resting a kiss there on her hair to return the gesture without words. It was enough for Sansa, who sighed softly in his arms and wriggled against him in his lap to hold him closer to herself.

 

There were no guards coming for them tonight. There were no rules broken. This was their home, and their keep, and she was his wife and he was her husband, but this was a game they played from time to time. They pretended things were different, that she was someone else’s, and he was coming in the night to claim her for himself. Sansa loved the game as much as he—if the shudders in her body during the aftermath were telling.

 

Possessively, he squeezed his arm around her, brushing his nose against her hair.

 

“You’re mine, little bird,” he told her, but she didn’t seem to need the reminder. Sandor felt the curve of her lips, the small smile she made against his chest in response to his words.

 

Her hand slid over his jerkin, resting against the spot right above his heart.

 

“I am yours,” Sansa murmured, and he believed her.

 

 


End file.
